


Blood & Thunder

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he was a kid, Stiles has always found himself in trouble one way or another. Turns out, that never changed. Stiles Stilinski must face werewolves, vampires, alphas and originals as his friends (and enemies) drag him into a world of the preternatural. With Scott distracted by his own problems, can Stiles keep his secret? Or does Peter Hale already have him cornered? Enter Blood and Thunder; a world filled with dangerous enemies and even more insidious friends.</p><p>Not abandoned! On hiatus until August-September.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood & Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Roz (kermitfries00 @ lJ), who held my hand during the writing of this Part I. You’re an awesome cheerleader, and an even better Beta. Thanks for yelling at me when I needed it! This fic couldn’t have been done without you! You can also read this at my writing journal marygwrites.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning(s): Implied slash, violence, some gore (vampires and werewolves, guys!), abuse of a minor, no smut involved... I don't think I missed anything but let me know if I should add something? Also, this is totally my first time writing in teen wolf's fandom.
> 
> Timeline: Takes place during Wolfs Bane and spans through the season 1 finale. For The Vampire Diaries: based (loosely) on season 3 with assumptions made and certain changes to suit the fic. Will contain RIPPER!Stefan, Klaus as well as the alpha. This fic tries to stick as close to canon as possible, so there may be familiar scenes here and there.

 

 

_Hands curl around his shoulders, crushing him against the wall. Teeth dig into his neck, angry, hungry and full of desperate desire. He can’t cry out, can’t do a damn thing against this violence. Instead, he groans into the air, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he goes slack against the monster holding him hostage._

~~~

  
Lydia Martin whispers things in his ear. Her hand curls around his arm, head resting against his shoulder as she walks him through the periodic table. He gets kisses if he’s right, bites if he’s wrong. Science has never really been his thing, so chunks of his neck linger by strings of shredded muscle. Her hair drapes over the wound, hiding the dried blood caked on his skin. Then, suddenly, tongue and teeth invade the wound on his neck. Lydia sucks hard, her grip crushing. Her hands tremble. Stiles isn’t sure if that is out of rage or fear or something else all-together.

“I’m so hungry, Stiles.” She mouths against his shoulder. “I’m _starving._ ”

Stiles is frozen in her grasp. His mind jerks into action, but his blood stills, frozen like ice. He can’t even breathe.

“I know.” His voice a hoarse groan, barely above a whisper. She turns him around, peering into his eyes. Her eyes are big, black things. Half-squished worms writhe terrible black lines into the skin around them. She bites into him, sobs tearing from her throat. Fog keeps the pain a dull throb that pushes past every blood cell standing in its way. He wills himself not to move; refuses to let himself scream as his back crumbles against her, eyes dropping closed.

Cold wind catches his cheek. Stiles jolts awake. He scrubs a hand over his mouth and sits up with a start. The room is heavy - stinking of sweat and something else. Something he can’t put his finger on. Stiles’ shoulders fall back. He stretches his back before crawling out of bed. Stiles shuffles his way to the window but lifting his hands is a chore. They shove through honey-like air, and he grunts with effort.

When he finally fumbles with the top of the window, it refuses to budge. Stiles opens his eyes a little wider, hands clutching at the wood beneath them. He tries again, the _thud-dumping_ of his heart loud in his ears. The faint smell of leather wrinkles his nose. He pushes the panic down, forcing himself to calm. _He’s not coming back,_ Stiles reminds himself, _he’s never coming back._

He withdraws from the window, muttering the reminder under his breath. Stiles sighs, rolling his eyes at his own paranoia. _Dad must have closed it,_ he decides. Scratching his lower back, he shuffles through his room to grab random articles of clothing and stumbles his way to the bathroom.

“Stiles.” The irritation in the tone is all too familiar. His heart stutters, the sound rushing to his ears as his body stills.

“Jesus Christ, Hale. What the hell?” The man gives him an unamused sneer.

Derek Hale crosses his arms, jaw clenching as he gives his best be-afraid-of-me stare. Stiles wonders if maybe this was a Hale thing. Did werewolves always have to be angry? Was it a rule, or something? Derek never smiled, never laughed. That, more than anything scares him but Stiles isn’t a werewolf. He refuses to be bated; refuses to fall for the game. He isn’t apart of whatever power struggle Hale’s life has become. Yes, the werewolf could probably hear his panic clear as day but does that mean Stiles has to bend to the leather-clad, look-at-me-i’m-so-handsome guys every desire? Nope. Not a chance.

“Have you talked to Scott yet?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dude, we saw each other last night. Remember that high speed, _Die Hard_ bullshit car chase that saved your werewolf ass? Because I do. Scott may have been driving, but I was totally risking my life too, you know. A thank you once in a while would be nice.”

“Stiles.” His name is chewed through a breath of frustration. Before he knows it, Derek’s large, rough fingers grind his wrists to the wall. Nails cut into him and he recoils at the contact. Trapped, pinned to the wall by an inhuman force, Stiles grimaces. He squirms beneath Derek’s grasp.

“Are you growling? Seriously? Can you hold in your hormonal anger just once? Come on, whose a good doggy – Ouch! Okay, okay. I get it. You can let go now.” Stiles’ fingers wrapped around the hand holding him still. Nails dig into his skin and it makes him writhe.

“No, I haven’t talked to Scott, okay? Dude, stop trying to maul me.” Derek does, thankfully, and Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pats a hand against his aching chest, trying to calm his heart down.

“We need that necklace. Make sure he isn’t distracted, got it?”

“Did you forget the part where he’s completely in love with Allison? You know that girl who has the necklace? Pretty sure that means a distraction is guaranteed.”

“So keep him focused.”

“What makes you think –“

“You’ll find a way.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Stiles.” He shrinks at the growling of his name and frowns at Derek. Sometimes he thinks people overestimate how much control he has over Scott. Especially where Allison is concerned.

“Fine,” Stiles relents, “We’ll get the necklace.” How, he doesn’t know yet but he doesn’t want to be slammed into another freaking wall. Appeasing the werewolf with a lie seems like his best option. Besides, if Scott doesn’t handle it, Stiles knows he can find a way.

“Good.” Derek steps back from him and Stiles shuffles forward, rubbing his hand over his bruised chest. His bruised, naked chest. Yeah, okay. That wasn’t awkward. Stiles coughs, deciding to ignore the fact that he’s practically naked with a very angry boy - man? - werewolf - in the room.

“How’d you get in here, anyway?”

Derek shrugs. “The window was open.”

“And what, that automatically gives you permission to come inside?” The thought of someone coming and going as they pleased was terrifying. Especially with the alpha hanging around town. He’s been careful lately, with all the shit going on with Scott. The window should have been locked – the door, too.

“What?” He asks when Derek doesn’t say anything.

“Nothing,” Derek says but Stiles doesn’t miss the way he straightens. Derek does the same thing whenever they’re talking about the Argents. “Make sure you lock it next time. What if I was the alpha?”

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah right, like he’d pay any attention to me. Scott’s the big fish, I’m the small fish.” He paused. “You should go, before my dad spots you.”

“Your dad left two hours ago.”

Stiles scowls at the man. “So you’re stalker-wolf now, too? Are we suddenly in a Twilight movie?”

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles and stalks down the hallway, into his bedroom. Stiles frowns but he follows anyway.

“Where –“

Derek lifts the window open and – without warning – jumps two stories down.

“ – show off.” Stiles mutters, shutting the window and skulking off to the bathroom.

He throws on whatever he can find, the backpack thrust carelessly over his shoulder. He shakes his head, muttering insults in the general direction Derek had gone off too. “It would be nice,” He says finally as he reaches his car, “if you people would learn to knock.” The door tears open beneath his fingers. Stiles shoves his backpack into the passenger side and climbs into the car.

The jeep shudders to life as Stiles pushes the clutch into gear. In spite of the cold winter breeze shuffling plants outside, Stiles fiddles with the buttons on his dashboard until cold air blasts across his skin. Satisfied, he lets out a low hum as the car rushes forward. The road curves and narrows.

His hands drop towards the steering wheel but he hesitates. Something blurs a spot in his vision. Stiles blinks slowly. Once, then twice. Nothing emerges from the forest path. Stiles forces his foot against the gas. Trees bristle as he speeds by, their sharp branches edging into his line of vision like claws. He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. _There is something out there._

Stiles sucks in a breath. With a nervous glance in the rear-view mirror, Stiles hunches forward in his seat. It appears out of nowhere; a tall human-looking creature with familiar black eyes and angry veins.

“Shit.” Stiles swears, swerving the car to the right. Something crashes against his car and the impact jerks his body back into his seat. Stiles lets his breath out with a _whoosh_ but there is no time to recover. He fumbles for his seat belt. A glance upward tells him there won’t be much time to run. His heart jumps into his throat and with another final shove at his seatbelt button, Stiles manages to stumble out of the car.

“Please, _please_ be the alpha.” Stiles prays. He isn’t sure exactly to who - he stopped beleiving in god the moment his mother died. Maybe its to her, but Stiles would be thankful to anybody who answered his prayer. When he lurches forward, all that stands before him is empty road.

~~~

  
“You look like shit.” Scott greets him - apologetic and casual - like he can just shrug off the night before. Stiles makes his way through the parking lot, choosing to ignore his friend. “Come on, Stiles.”

He turns on Scott, clucking his tongue in irritation. “Hi Stiles,” he drawls, “How are you? Me? I’m awesome. I mean, it’s not like there is this outragously psychotic ass manhandling your best friend every time you screw up. No, he totally just wants to cuddle. Like a nice freaking puppy.”

Scott has the grace to look guilty. He shifts his weight into one side, anticipating a blow. “Look,” That would be his slow appease-the-anger voice. Stiles scowls, narrowing his eyes at his friend as they push through a crowd of students. “I’m sorry okay? But he’s the only one who can help us find the alpha. We need him.”

“No, you need him and dude? Throwing him under the bus doesn’t help anything. What makes you think you can trust him? We did screwed him over and it’s not like we’re any help to him now. If I were him - well, I wouldn’t still be living in a burned down shack, not with the porshe anyway - but if I were him, I’d hate our guts just as much as we hate him.”

“How many times do I have to apologize for that?” Scott stopped them in the hall. He ran a hand across the back of his neck, eyes wrinkled in guilt. “I was in panic mode, okay? Allison -”

“Dude - I was agreeing with you. Seriously, can we forget about her for one second? We have other things to worry about - like how you’re going to get that necklace.”

“She won’t even talk to me, Stiles. How am I supposed to ask to borrow her necklace?”

“It’s easy. Look, just go up to her and say ‘Hey, can I look at your necklace to see if there is anything on it. Or in it.” Stiles gives a pause, unable to keep the teasing out of his voice. “So I can kill the alpha and cure my lycanthropy and get back with you?”

Scott groans and Stiles offers an apologetic grin as he pats the wolf on the shoulder. “Dude, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just focus. Keep your head in the game. You can play lifetime movie of the week after you find the cure.”

“Right.” Scott nods and Stiles thinks they might actually have a chance. He beams at the boy.

“Awesome. Remember. Necklace, cure, Allison. In that order.” Stiles gives Scott a playful shove. Scott shoves back, harder than necessary. ducking into the classroom. Which, thankfully, leaves Stiles alone for the better part of the morning..

Stiles ditches first period and dives into the library. Kids scowl at him when he shoves past them and jumps for the computer, barely mumbling an apology in their general direction. Their fallowing insults fall on deaf ears. He’s twitchy all over, mind racing with thoughts he’d rather not have. He shakes the mouse but the computer screen stays defiant and black. His leg bounces, lifting up and down in a rapid pace. Stiles forces himself to take a pause.

 _It’s the alpha._ He tells himself, glaring at the snail-paced computer. The bitch. “Come on, man.” He groans, slumping back into the chair. His fingers tap against the mouse as the computer hums into life. The librarian shushes someone across the room and Stiles shifts into a comfortable position.

It takes five entire minutes for the thing to boot up. Stiles swears the school has employed the same computers since like, the nineties. The moment the desktop finishes loading, Stiles opens a browser. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he navigates to the PD Archives, plugging in his dads username and password.

Sometimes, Stiles wonders what he’d do if his dad wasn’t the town Sheriff.

He pulls up the search engine on the screen and Stiles enters what he knows of the Alpha’s murder. _Amputation, animal kill, Beacon Hills_ and then, just to be sure, _75 mile radius._

Jason Myers, Reddick, and Ugner are expected but there is more. In Raleigh, there are four deaths matching the entry. Emily Davis, aged 17, was found near a dumpster just outside the city limits. Karen White, 26, was found in the woods buried under a shallow grave. Marcus Waters, 18, was found by campers in a local park. The killings seem random, when he reads the coroners description but Stiles knows what to look for. _The trick,_ he remembers, _is to go for the extreme._ Bile fills his throat. Three other cities pop up around Beacon Hills. Champaign, Pekin, and Princeton follow the same pattern. Stiles leans back in his chair, pale and drained.

Twenty people had been murdered in the last three weeks. Only three of them had been because of the alpha. How many of them were because of some sick psycho plaguing the city streets?

Nine people had been drained of blood. That left eight who would have died with or without turning their lives into a b-level horror movie. Stiles stares at the screen for a moment, then abruptly closes the program and darts out of the room before anyone can see him. He was going to be sick.

~~~

  
Scott comes out of nowhere, just as the bathroom door swings shut. Striding into line beside his friend seems like the most natural thing on the planet. Despite his new lycanthrope, Scott is probably the safest person around these days. You know, ignoring all those times in the locker room, when the boy was trying to kill him. That was the wolf, not Scott.

When Scott doesn’t say anything, Stiles swings an arm around the young werewolfs shoulder. His other hand grips his backpack tight. Scott, however, doesn’t seem to notice. He wonders if he should warn Scott but there is already too much shit going on right now. What with the Alpha, and Derek and the Argents. It was like they were in a freaking soap opera, with all the drama that hung around town. He wonders, idly, who would play him.

“Jackson knows.” Scott says, bringing Stiles out of his thoughts.

“So?” Jackson is the least of their worries. He’s human, just an idiot who doesn’t know how good he’s got it. Even if he was a threat, he’s the last on the list. There are other things they need to worry about; things worse than werewolves and alphas. Scott doesn’t know that yet, and if Stiles has anything to say about it, he’ll _never_ know.

“He’s threatening to tell Allison.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “And again, so? Does he have any proof? And even if he did, who would believe him?”

“Allison’s father, for one.” Scott looks put out, sulking beneath his arm. Stiles removes his and drops it to his side. Yeah, okay. He’d give Scott that point.

“So what does he want?”

“He wants to be turned.”

Stiles pauses to stare at Scott. “Are you serious?” Nobody could be that stupid. Not even Jackson. Sure, occasionally he had a dream or two about it himself, but he knows better than to go and ask the closest werewolf to turn him. There is a difference between fantasy and a real life. There is no such thing as Edward Cullen or vampires with souls or werewolves who know how to not put their friends lives in danger. Half of it, Stiles knows, is his fault. The other half is sheer dumb luck.

“Yes.” Scott shifts as they pull to a stop at the doors. “What am I supposed to do? I told him about the alpha but he doesn’t believe me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Stiles scoffs the words. If Jackson wants to be turned well – Stiles doubts that would happen, but maybe Derek will show up and beat it out of him. Or hey – the alpha could take care of this problem for them. The thought is almost cheerful before he remembers that he’s pretty much wishing for someone to get hurt. And maimed. Maybe just a little maiming would knock the stupidity out of the jock.

“More importantly,” He says before Scott can distract himself with worrying over Allison. “Did you get the necklace?”

Scott ducks his head and Stiles takes that as a no. “Okay, dude. Steal it if you have too. We need that necklace.”

“But Jackson - ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles breezes, ”I’ve got a plan.”

Scott frowns at him. “Stiles –“

“No, look, just focus on tonights game. If I’m gunna be out there saving your wolf-ass, you better be winning.”

“What? Stiles, you’re playing first line.”

Stiles gives Scott a smile. Because yeah, he’d been kind of excited but with everything going on, maybe it was better that he’s away from any potential victims.

“Don’t worry,” He assures Scott, “I’ll be there.” It feels like a lie before it even falls from his lips.

Scott doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring, like somebody kicked his puppy or something. Stiles shifts his weight to the other side, avoiding the boys eyes. “Okay, remember: new plan. You focus on the game. Steal Allison’s necklace. I can handle Jackson. “

He leaves before Scott can even formulate a reply.

~~~

  
The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur. Jackson acts like an ass, Scott falls for the bait.

Generally, though, they leave the school with no dead bodies. Something for which Stiles was grateful. At least the Alpha seems to be following a pattern. Anyone on the list was screwed, but it was a small number so far, considering.

Stiles pushes open the door to his bed room, wanting nothing more than to crawl into blankets and never come out. Instead, he drags his body to the computer desk and slides into the chair in front of it. He takes a moment to breathe. This entire day has been a gigantic nightmare. How in the hell were they supposed to handle all of this? Stiles scrubs a hand over his eyes.

Before he can even begin to formulate a plan, a knock pulls him from his thoughts. He swings his chair around, stands and falls back into it. “What-?”

Derek Hale lurks in the corner, his body all stress as it stands coiled before him. He puts a finger to his mouth, jaws clenched and kind of terrifying as he jerks a finger towards the door.

“Have you never heard of knocking?” Stiles hisses the words as he stands again. He swears he hears a growl but Stiles chooses to ignore the werewolf in favor of the person at his door. He tears it open, schooling a smile on his face.

His dad greets him with a tired grin as Stiles leans against the door. He keeps it cracked open, but is careful to hide the criminal in his room. Yup. His life is full of ironies. Stiles wonders when his world went to hell in a basket.

“Hey, dad.” He says awkwardly. “Whats up?”

“Heard you were playing first line tonight.”

Oh yeah. Stiles shifts, licks his lips and returns the grin but his a little softer than he’s usually able to manage. “Uh, yeah. Listen, dad –“

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Stiles swallows, whatever words he was going to say forgotten in his throat. “Me too.” He says, frowning at himself when the stupidity of the words strike him. He rolls his eyes. “Proud, I mean. Of um, the game. You know, it being the first one and all.”

“Listen, I’ve got something to take care of tonight, but I’m going to be there.”

Stiles swallows again. He wishes, in that moment, that he could tell his dad everything. The werewolf in his room, the werewolf his best friend had become and the things his mind refused to even touch. He won’t. His dad has enough to deal with. Besides, the man would only get himself killed trying to save everyone and their dog.

His dad stares at him oddly for a second, but it quickly splits in favor of the grin on his features as he pulls Stiles into a hug. Stiles bites back a surprised squeak and pulls the door shut behind him as they clap each other on the back.

“See you at the game.”

They aren’t his words but they feel like a promise he can’t keep.

~~~

  
Peter Hale grips his neck with clawed, angry fingers. His knuckles twitch as Stiles’ back cracks against the wall. Breath rushes out of him in one swift motion as his wind pipe crumbles beneath the weight of the hand. Derek shouts into the phone; angry and loud enough that Stiles glances down even as the alpha pins him to the wall. Spots dance across his eyes and Stiles squeezes them shut. They won’t cooperate. He can’t breathe, he can’t move. He grasps for something - anything that will give him air - but he fumbles. His fingers don’t reach far enough; his arms won’t stretch, even as he screams the command in his head. He goes for the face but his hands only reach around cold, white wrists. _This, Stiles decides, is how I’m going to die._

The alpha stomps down on the phone. It cracks loudly underfoot. The sound pushes past the ringing in his ears. Stiles flinches. Eyes flutter open, then closed. His shoulder blades fuse together in defense. The pressure on his neck loosens and hot air blows against his cheek. Stiles takes a greedy mouthful of air, sounds sputtering from between his lips. Fangs touch his upper lip. Flesh curls into a grin and Stiles feels suddenly naked, like he needs a blanket to cover the entirety of his body. His heart thuds against his chest. He wheezes, tries to give himself a pause long enough to think. Instead, he sucks in what little air will go through his wind pipe. It stings his throat; waters his eyes. He wheezes again, nails clawing through the fabric of Peter’s coat.

He is numb against the hand, the muscles in his chest aching and sore from all the work. The alpha strokes his cheek with elongated claws, the same way girls sometimes rubbed dogs against the jaw.

“You,” Peter says, “are a very curious human.” He doesn’t sound like a killer. His voice is calm. Stiles figures that this is either a very good sign, or a very, very bad omen.

“I -” He began. Peter doesn’t let him finish.

“Someone is looking for you.” The words are snapped - calm mood gone just like that. Stiles stifles a gasp as the claw stops mid stroke, dipping into his flesh. He blinks up at Peter, mouth snapping closed.

Derek, he knew, was just out side. He wonders what was taking the werewolf so long; wonders if maybe Derek was hoping he’d end up getting killed. Maybe that was the plan all along. Except that was stupid, because then Scott wouldn’t be so inclined to help him. Except then, Scott would be alone and that would be bad because werewolf-Scott alone was not something Stiles wanted to be apart of.

He’s avoiding the real issue here. He knows he shouldn’t; knows that just because he refuses to think about it, doesn’t mean that it isn’t there. Except he’s pretty sure Peter wouldn’t know. And why would he? Unless he was right. Unless there was another killer in town with a specific target and oh god he was so freaking screwed.

“Me?” His own pathetic mewling hurt his ears, high pitched and not at all the calm he’d hoped to convey. He wonders how deep the scratch would have to be to change him. Stiles makes a mental note to ask Derek later, if he survived.

“Yes,” Peter says with a wolfish grin. “You.”

So far this has all been about Scott. It kind of made sense in a Murphy's law kind of way. Scott was the newly turned werewolf, not him. Scott was the one who dealt with the consequences of not listening to your dad when he told you to stay put, not Stiles. Stiles just had to deal with everything else that managed to escape Scott.

Stiles was the one who had to deal with the alpha in front of him; the one who was looking at him like he was something good to eat. Stiles knew that look. It always lead to very bad things. He didn’t have any nifty werewolf powers to help him escape. Just a werewolf who, for whatever reason, was taking his time to rescue Stiles.

 _Smart, Stilinski,_ Stiles thinks to himself, _next time just tell Hale no._ If there was a next time.

Peter’s hand pats his cheek and Stiles grimaces. He tries to recoil, but there is no room to _breathe_ , let alone move. His back hurts; his head feels like it’s going to implode. He wants, more than anything else, to be at the game with his dad in the stands and Scott at his side.

“I’m sure,” Peter continues, “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Not who, what. Shit. His mouth goes dry.

Stiles swallows, shrinking as he tries to become one with the wall behind him. “Um,” he says, his mind racing with too many words, too fast to grab them. He can’t think. His throat is swollen and it’s impossible to breathe.

Peter Hale has him cornered.

Peter Hale is the alpha.

Peter Hale, killer, alpha and murdering psychopath of a man knows the very thing he’s been trying to hide.


End file.
